


cold iron, warm flame

by technorat



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty Fusion, Body Horror, Fae Magic, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 14:31:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16894392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/technorat
Summary: Every Fae’s boon comes with a price. Brendol sold his heir’s sight and sense of pain for beauty and talent with his hands. Curses, however, come free of charge. Armitage races across the kingdom, in search of his beloved brother’s true love, the only person who can break the sleeping sickness that falls across the land. The only problem? Prince Ben Solo is presumed dead and Armitage has no voice to use to scream.Kylo Ren is a servant to Supreme Leader Snoke of the Fae Lands, one of his exalted knights. He is charged with the task of  killing the sleeping Prince and bringing Snoke back his heart. He finds himself stealing away the heart of another man, a heart that he’d like to keep.





	cold iron, warm flame

**Author's Note:**

> Very excited to finally post this KBB! It's been a labor of love.
> 
> You can find me on gaygalaxyguy.tumblr.com and you can find the amazing artist at niibeth.tumblr.com !! 
> 
> special thanks to darthkylorevan.tumblr.com for beta-ing this!!
> 
> EDIT: here's the link with all the art on tumblr!  
> http://niibeth.tumblr.com/post/180894577563/cold-iron-warm-flame

In a  kingdom a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, lived a king--cruel hearted and iron-fisted. Maratelle had been promised to him since she had been young and he’d been handsome. It took too long for her to become pregnant with his heir and the labor took far too long as well.

But once her suffering ceased, it was all worth it.

Invitations were sent throughout the lands, to every noble and royal of human lineage and to the faeries of the bordering Fae Lands.

Brendol II looked like his father, with the same blue eyes and freckle spotted skin, both blessed with ginger hair. He had Maratelle’s mouth though, soft lips and weak chin. He was doted on by all those that visited.

The Ball celebrating the birth of Brendol II was only a few weeks after her labor and she suffered for it, standing beside King Brendol’s throne as royalty and nobility offered their gifts for her dear, sweet child, while her body ached with pain still lingering from the long labor. 

From King Thrawn, he was given books written more for his adult days than for his childhood ones.

From Queen Organa, he was given a blanket, made of the softest wool in all the lands and dyed a gentle, green color.

From Queen Maz, he was given chests of gold. "He'll need it someday," the crone said with a wink.

The list of royals and nobles went on and on, until there were nothing left to present to the baby.

Then came the second part of the gifting; gifts offered by the faeries themselves. This part of the proceedings always left Maratelle ill at ease but never before had her own child been involved. Her stomach twisted, but she had trained herself to remain still and to keep the smile still on her face.

While humans offered their gifts at no price, the faeries were entirely different. 

Queen Maratelle stepped forth, lifting Brendol II into her arms from his cradle. Brendol II made an odd little noise, one that struck her heart. She watched the first faerie approach with apprehension.

Rotta was grotesque--with green skin too small for her form and wrinkles lining every corner of flesh. She wore a feathered monocle over one eye and a thin smile. "King Brendol of Arkansis, I offer your son the gift of beauty."

"And what do you ask for in return?" Brendol asked.

"Your son's sight."

Maratelle held her baby closer. She'd carried him for months, labored for hours pushing him out. And to think he would not know what the world looked like? For beauty. _Beauty_.

He was already the most beautiful creature in the room, she thought.

"I accept," Brendol said, not even sparing a glance at his spouse. He was so cruel at times; how could she have forgotten?

Rotta smiled and approached hastily, her ringed fingers wriggling at her sides.

It took all of Maratelle's will to not budge as Rotta held a hand before her baby. The baby blue of Brendol II's eyes greyed over, the sight leaving him. His skin became clearer with the freckles leaving them, lips pink and sweet.

It was not worth the price they paid, Maratelle thought.

Jool was the next faerie, offering strength for Brendol II's sense of taste. 

Brendol did not accept that offer. Maratelle held her baby closer, pressing a kiss to the soft, ginger hair, inhaling the scent.

Obi-Wan approached next, soft spoken and cloaked in long grey robes. He was more human than the other faeries, looking like a wizened elder. "I offer talent with Brendol II's hands--whether it be weaving or crafting, whatever he shall enjoy."

That was a generous gift, Maratelle thought. But wasted on a royal-born child, who would never need to work in such a matter.

Brendol, however, seemed to disagree. "And what do you ask for?"

"His sense of pain."

"Very well."

Her heart leaped. Sense of pain for gifts of craftsmanship? To think of such a generous offer from one of the fae! Maratelle eagerly held out her baby as the faerie completed the exchange.

Obi-Wan smiled as he stepped back, Maratelle returning the gesture.

Kento stepped forwards. He might offer something good, Maratelle thought. Being one of the more famous fae—

Grey smoke filled the room, the smell of charcoal and fire arriving. Out from the smoke walked a tall form, cloaked in only a robe.

Snoke.

King Brendol leaped to his feet only then, coming to stand protectively in front of Maratelle and the baby. “Supreme Leader Snoke,” Brendol said, smiling, showing all his teeth. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

Snoke quirked a thin brow. “I believe my invitation went missing, somehow. What a shame.” He approached, footfalls silent.

People—both human and fae alike—skittered off to the sides, fear dirtying the air.

“You were not invited,” Brendol said.

Damn him, Maratelle thought. Damn him for admitting it.

Snoke stood taller, his robes billowing with wind. “It would be somewhat rude of me to miss a momentous occasion.” He stepped forth, onto the platform with Brendol’s throne and Maratelle, and the baby swaddled in her arms.

She held Brendol II closer in her arms, her whole body trembling fiercely.

“Gifts come with prices,” Snoke said, tapping on his thin lower lip. “But I thought I’d do one better. Curses come free.”

“No!” Maratelle yelped, before turning and trying to run.

Snoke’s magic twisted its way around her, turning her right back around. She couldn’t move. She could scarcely breathe.

The red glow of it settled on Brendol II. The baby babbled, entranced by the light.

“Now let’s see here… what gifts have you been given?” Snoke murmured. “Craftsmanship. Weaving, knitting, sewing… seems to be in the boy’s nature. Well, isn’t that quaint? On Brendol the Second’s sixteenth birthday, he will prick himself on one of his tools and die at the peak of his youth.” 

Maratelle couldn’t move, nor could she speak. The tears fell from her eyes nonetheless.

Snoke vanished with a wave of red light and, with it, so did the binds surrounding Maratelle.

Her baby continued to make noises, wet, happy noises, not knowing what had been done to him.

“Please,” Maratelle said, words weak. She looked every part a distressed mother, running short on options. “Can someone undo this evil? Someone, save my baby!”

Brendol looked at her oddly, but she didn’t care.

Her son, her sweet, innocent son.

Kento still stood there, a faerie that looked utterly alien, with bright blue skin and long flaps of skin where there should have been hair. “I… did not offer a gift yet. Snoke’s curse is too powerful, but I might lessen it, to make it so that it may someday be broken.”

Maratelle’s eyes widened, hope soaring in her heart. “But what would it cost?”

The faerie lowered his head. “For every gift, I collect voices.”

Her child—without sight or the ability to speak? What a high price to pay, she thought, to keep him still living.

“Then you’ll have the voice of my child,” Brendol said, hardly paying his wife any notice.

Kento nodded, lifting a hand toward the baby.

“Ulica,” Brendol said, calling for a servant woman holding a platter of sweets. “Bring forth Armitage.”

The woman nodded, bowing low. Shortly after, a tiny red haired child joined her side. He too carried a platter of sweets. His face was grim, pale with fear. Ulica brought him swiftly to Brendol’s side and was just as quick to abandon him.

Brendol placed a meaty paw across the child’s neck, pushing him towards Kento.

The faerie paused, tilting his head. “You lied to me.”

“I did not,” Brendol said, caring not for the audience. “You will have the voice of my child. I simply did not specify which. Armitage is mine, a bastard, but still mine.”

Maratelle took in how the boy flinched at those words. How old could he be? Four? Five? Who had been his mother? She could see the resemblance to Brendol, the same high cheekbones, the same bright orange hair. How had she not known? How had no one told her?

Kento clucks his tongue. “So you did…” He lifted his hand, a golden glow surrounding Armitage’s throat. Slowly, the glow peeled itself away and returned to Kento. “This is acceptable.” When he spoke, his words came out accented in the Arkanian way, with long vowels and clipped consonants.

He sounded like a child.

“And the curse?” Maratelle demanded. Brendol II had hardly fussed, even with all the commotion. A peaceable child who deserved more than what his lot in life was.

“Brendol II shall not die at sixteen,” Kento said, placing a blue hand upon Brendol II’s brow. “He shall prick his finger on one of his tools, however, and fall into a sleep like death. True love’s kiss will wake him. He shall not be broken by Snoke’s curse.”

The glow settled underneath Brendol II’s skin. Only then did he start to cry.

The sound was a relief to Maratelle, who let her own tears escape her eyes.

She didn’t notice Armitage, left upon the platform but so very alone. Armitage moved his mouth in the shape of words, but no sound came out.

~

~

~

In King Brendol Hux’s court, everything and everyone has their place. Including bastards like Armitage.

His day is tiring—between lessons he will never have need of and swordsmanship drills he can hardly perform, to the most draining part of the day: mealtime with his family.

Brendol sits at the head of the table, with Maratelle at his right-hand side, wearing a gown of seafoam green and a loose necklace of pearls, and Brendol II at his left-hand side, wearing clothes of considerable less finery betraying that he’d been at his dreadful hobbies yet again. (Dreadful to all but Armitage, who wore the fine green and gold woven bracelet around his thin wrist at all times, hidden beneath a pair of thin leather gloves.)

Armitage slides into his seat beside Brendol II wordlessly.

If either the king or queen has something to say about his tardiness, they do not voice it. Brendol is already halfway through a leg of roast meat.

Beside him, Brendol II smiles, the opposite of their father. But Armitage calls him Techie more often. He slides his hand (bare, with short nails and soft palms) into Armitage’s own. “Armie,” he says sweetly. “How was your day?”

 _Busy_ , he taps into his brother’s hand in the language that only the two of them spoke. _Have you heard news of your betrothed?_

Techie blushes a bright, splotchy pink. “Prince Ben sends his regards, I am told. He is riding on horseback to the kingdom. I’m told he’ll be at attendance at my birthday celebration.”

 _Handsome_ , Armitage says, drawing an _H_ on Techie’s palm.

Techie titters, his blush growing.

“Armitage,” Brendol says, voice grating. Clearly, he’s grown tired of the chatter. Or, rather, the conversation not being focused on himself. “You should eat faster. Remember, you have another lesson with Captain Phasma. It’s poor behavior for you to be late.”

 _As if Phasma would care_ , Armitage taps onto Techie’s palm. _We’ve been playing cards more than playing soldier as of late. Mitaka smuggles a decent brew out on the grounds. Oh, so scandalous, isn’t it, Techie? The bastard son of a king getting drunk with such lowly company?_

“Worry not, Father,” Techie says, serene as one can be when lying to those such as Brendol. “He is well aware.”

Brendol’s shoulders relax, nearly imperceptibly. Calmed again by the words of his precious heir.

“Dear,” Maratelle says, her voice needling, “have you been… sewing again?”

Techie freezes, dropping the piece of bread he’d been holding into his soup. Armitage’s eyes flicker to Techie’s hands. There are a few tiny cuts on the very tips of his fingers, nothing so major. Nothing one would spot if they had not been looking.

Sheepishly, Techie smiles. “Of course not, mother. These are simply paper cuts.”

Maratelle raises her head, tilting her chin up. “And why exactly have you been looking at books when you cannot read them?”

“Armie reads them to me,” Techie says. The lie hardly counts as a lie. Armitage reads to him often—just not this very day. “I hold them with one hand and he the other, so he can still tell me what is going on.”

Clever Techie. His sometime silver tongue will get him through politics where his beauty won’t.

Maratelle clucks. “Very well, dear,” she says. And then, to Armitage: “Be careful when you read to him, Armitage. Don’t let him be hurt.”

Armitage nods, playing along with this whole farce.

Brendol says nothing, nothing at all.

What a family they make.

~

Once he’s eaten his fill (or, really, once Brendol thinks he’s eaten enough), Armitage is dismissed and sent to Phasma for more training. 

His arms ache from the earlier session he had attended, with several dozen of Phasma’s men. But the limits of his weak, frail body had never concerned Brendol.

Thankfully, Phasma is not as loyal to Brendol as she would have him think. 

When he makes his way to her courtyard, she’s already seated at a round table underneath an overhang, her armor partially stripped from her body. Her biceps glisten with a layer of sweat as she armwrestles a kitchen servant.

The kitchen servant giggles, blush high on her cheeks. 

Phasma lets her win, slowly, grinning all the while.

Armitage does not make a sound as he arrives, simply leaning against a pillar and folding his arms. They’d notice him eventually. Sometimes even the kitchen women showed him respect. (Utterly ridiculous, considering where he came from.)

Phasma is first to notice, her bright blue eyes warming up. “Armitage. How good of you to join us.”

The kitchen servant is quick to step away from Phasma and out of her seat, brushing invisible wrinkles from her gown. “Armitage Hux,” she says, curtsying low, saying his name like it’s a title.

And… it is, in a way.

A bastard of the king, taken in, and yet not a prince or any other loftily titled person, no inheritance rights either. 

He waves her off. The posturing is not necessary. 

“Excuse me,” the servant says, curtsying once again before scuttling out of the room.

“There goes my fun,” Phasma says, a slow grin spreading across her face. “What shall you do in way of reparation?”

He sits across her at the table, pulling a pack of cards from the somewhat hidden storage compartment. Armitage shuffles them before dealing three to Phasma and three to himself. 

“What news does the kingdom have?” she asks, as if responding to one of his questions. “Ah, let’s see, shall we? Everyone is talking about Prince Brendol II’s impending birthday. Who’s invited and what they’ll wear. Dreadful thing, those balls. The shoes are never comfortable, are they?”

Armitage draws a card and frowns to himself. _I am well aware about your opinion on the shoes. But I’m sure the pretty girls swooning in your arms more than makes up for it_ , Armitage mouths carefully.

It draws a laugh out of Phasma. “Just barely. How is Techie holding up?”

 _Excited to meet that prince_ , Armitage says. _Let’s hope for Prince Ben that he lives up to his name._

“Oh Techie,” Phasma sighs. “Ever the romantic. It’s going to get him seriously hurt someday.” She places down two cards, tapping the worn back lightly.

_Let’s hope he’s a better man than most._

~

Armitage returns to his chambers after the ‘training’ session. He rids himself of the black and white checkered tunic and pants, replacing them with a cool, silky dressing gown. He washes himself, staring long and hard at his reflection.

The dark circles beneath his eyes are deep and ever growing darker. His lips are set in a fine line.

Nowhere can he see the magic that binds his voice to Techie’s fate.

Which is for the best, really. All things considering.

If he could, once again, feel the golden buzz of magic light itself around his throat… feel part of himself leave, against his will… he is not sure what he would do.

Three hesitant knocks at his door break him from his reverie. 

Armitage dries his hands before going to see who it is. As he opens the door, a part of him alights with nerves. Pays to have some sort of paranoia, with Brendol being how Brendol is.

But it is only Techie, dressed poorly once again, in a vivid orange tunic, closed unevenly across his chest. His sightless eyes look right ahead, past where Armitage stands.

Only when Armitage reaches out, taking Techie’s hand into his own does Techie burst to life.

“Armie,” he says, close to tears. 

 _Come in, come in_ , Armitage taps, shutting the door once his brother enters. _What is it that’s gotten you so upset?_

Techie shakes his head, hair flying. “M-Mother tossed away my stuff,” he cries, shoulders shaking. His crying grows louder, uncontrollable. “All of my crochet hooks. All of my embroidery needles. Everything!”

Armitage pulls his little brother into his arms, holding him close. It’s the least he can do now. 

“Oh, what will I do?” Techie murmurs into Armitage’s shoulder.

Armitage purses his lips. Long ago, Brendol, Maratelle, and he had agreed to not tell Techie any of the details behind the curse. As far as Techie knew, he is perfectly safe from harm; and that Maratelle is suddenly taking his hobbies away.

He lets a sigh escape his lips. Soundless, but still satisfying.

 _It’ll be okay_ , Armitage taps. _Just give her time. She’ll surely return your stuff to you._

Techie lets go of him and pushed something into Armitage’s hand, closing them around it. He’s memorized the layout of the castle’s rooms well, tracing familiar steps until he finds himself at the edge of Armitage’s bed, sitting on it gingerly.

“Do you like it?” Techie asks.

Armitage traces his fingers along the copper wire animal Techie had handed him. A cat. He smiles, turning it over. Joining Techie on the bed, he slips his hand into Techie’s and traces a _C_. 

_Cute._

“I know how much you like cats,” Techie starts. “I wanted to make it out of yarn. So it’d be softer to the touch. I’m sorry, Armie. It’s all I could do.”

 _I love it_ , he taps. _Thank you._

“Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t say it earlier. A-and sorry the cat is all I could make—”

Armitage smiles. _I will treasure her always. Have you named her?_

Techie stumbles over his words. “N-no, I left that for you.”

 _Millicent_ , he spells onto Techie’s palm.

“Millicent,” Techie says, tasting the name. “It’s a good name. I hope she’ll protect you.”

 _Silly_ , Armitage says. _Hounds are for protection. Cats are for friendship._

_~_

Kylo Ren rides hard and fierce through the wooded Fae Lands on the back of his ink black horse—a nightmare. Thick vines hang off of branches, thorns protruding. The thick outer layers of his clothes protect him from their touch.

Supreme Leader Snoke’s castle is a red point in the dim horizon.

He takes a breath and urges Silencer forwards.

When he does reach Snoke’s castle, the drawbridge is down. Snoke awaits him, impatient.

Kylo slides off of the nightmare’s side, patting her gently, before entering.

The halls of the castle are ever twisting and winding. He shuts his eyes and follows the presence of Snoke forwards, into the castle’s depths.

He opens his eyes, taking in the throne room. Everything is red, but for Snoke himself.

Snoke sits on the throne, dressed in fine gold. “Kylo Ren,” he greets, raising both slender hands. “Have you returned with what I requested?”

The bag clipped to Kylo’s side was a heavy weight during the journey. Worse yet, it was leaking. “Yes master,” he says, coming to kneel before Snoke’s throne.

It’s Snoke’s magic that lifts the bag from him. Kylo doesn’t stop him, simply watches as Snoke pulls it open and retrieves the faerie Kento’s heart.

The flesh of it glows blue. It is alien to the touch, foreign magic stranger to Kylo than many others.

Golden light leaves it as Snoke absorbs the magic within. He sighs happily.

“You have done well,” Snoke says, voice drastically changed. His voice is lighter now, younger, and strangely accented. Kylo blinks, cocking his head. He had not waited for Kento to speak before using his flamberge to strike him down. The scent of charred flesh still lingers in his nostrils. “I am proud of you, my apprentice.”

“Thank you, Master.” Kylo bathes in Snoke’s praise.

“I have another task for you,” Snoke says.

Kylo’s ears perk at that, but he knows it best to remain silent.

“In a week’s time, Prince Brendol II of Arkanis will reach his majority. At that time, a spell placed on him will kill him,” Snoke says. A smile tugs at his lip. “I want you to retrieve his heart. There is a magic within him that we will find… useful.”

 

Those faeries that trade with humans for boons to be placed upon them are cowards. That much Kylo knows. Giving magic stolen from Snoke to _humans_ is an unforgivable offense.

And if he can strengthen Snoke’s growing kingdom, by removing each traitorous faerie and each overreaching human… he will do it gladly. Without hesitation.

“You may go,” Snoke says, waving a hand. Another of the knights enters, this one pulling her helmet off as she approaches their master.

Kylo rises to his feet and brushes past her on his way out.

His mission lies ahead.

~

Something has gone wrong. That much, Armitage is aware of.

The day of Techie’s birth is drawing near and yet the castle is filled with nervous energy instead of excited. Between his drill-like sparring and his rather pointless lessons, Armitage is being kept busy.

He dismisses himself early from tea, the honey from it sticking uncomfortably to the back of his throat. Cloying and overly sweet, his tea does little to settle him as a good tea should.

Armitage makes his way to Mitaka’s haunt—the stables.

Though Dopheld Mitaka carried the honor of serving the Hux family as a household servant, it is rather all too clear that he would much prefer being outside, with wild living things. He’s brushing down a gorgeous palomino horse when Armitage lets himself into the stable, sliding the door shut behind him.

Mitaka jerks, straightening to attention, an apology already on his lips when he notices just who the intruder is. “Armitage Hux,” he says, the breath leaving him all at once, but not the perfected posture.

In the half-dark of the shed, Armitage does not bother with mouthing words that would go unseen. He has a slip of paper with a prewritten message and a pencil for more questions in one of his pockets.

Armitage brings out the folded piece of paper and hands it over.

Mitaka takes it gingerly, already used to the odd bastards’s odder ways. “What is everyone so nervous about?” he reads out. “Oh? D-did King Hux not tell you?”

Armitage almost scoffs at that.

When did King Hux put aside his crown and his pride and confide in his useless son? It is more likely for pigs to fly and for the sun to set in the east and for all of the human kings to be replaced by the likes of the fae.

He waits.

“A-ah.” Mitaka clears his throat, unable to clear the nerves along with it. “We servants prepared a room for Prince Ben’s arrival. B-but he has not arrived yet.”

Armitage quirks a brow.

“He should have been here yesterday, really.” Mitaka worries his palm with a thumb. “And we’ve no word from Alderaan about what might have caused his delay.”

And so the servants devolve into panic, with Brendol not saying a word about the event.

Armitage could sigh.

He takes the paper back from Mitaka. Carefully, he writes: _Has a search party been sent out?_

Mitaka shakes his head. “We are waiting on orders from King Hux.”

 _I will talk with him_ , Armitage writes, knowing the irony behind his written words and finding it ill humored. _We will fix things. Make sure to settle the servants. The nervous whispers will hurt morale._

“Thank you,” Mitaka says, bowing sharply. 

Armitage turns on his heel and exits, as quickly and quietly as he came. Making his way back into the castle, Mitaka’s words nip at his heels. Would Brendol truly wait until Techie’s birthday came?

Would he risk not having Techie’s love at hand if the curse they had so carefully prepared for struck?

Armitage shakes his head.

This all can be best dealt with without having Techie know. Armitage will let Techie know that Prince Ben got lost somewhere between Techie and Ben’s future territories and play it off as a little blunder—but only once Prince Ben is found and brought safely to the castle.

It takes him a little while to return to his own quarters. He tosses away the piece of paper he’d used to communicate with Mitaka, letting it burn in the fireplace.

He takes a fresh one and writes out his request.

~

Armitage is allowed into his father’s study, the guard giving him a curious glance. The note is hidden in a pocket, along with a pencil, so there really is nothing for the guard to gawk at.

The door slides shut behind him, a little hiss of air prickling the hair at the back of his neck.

“Armitage,” his father says, not bothering to look away from his work. Brendol examines papers—the kingdom’s budget perhaps, or even treatises from far off lands—with a pair of glasses low upon his nose. “What have you done this time?”

Armitage does not allow himself the pleasure of a scowl. He schools his expression into something stern before crossing the distance between them and handing his father the note.

Brendol takes it from him, but places it at his side.

A surge of anger nearly overtakes him. Prince Ben being missing is too important an issue to ignore, even if the messenger is a bastard.

He reaches over Brendol, taking the folded slip of paper and unfolding it, tapping at it urgently.

Brendol snarls. “What’s gotten into you?” But he snatches the paper and reads it.

If he expects a big reaction, he doesn’t get it.

“Fool,” Brendol says sharply. “Why look for Prince Ben when it’s so easy to pin the blame on someone else? Do you not think his disappearance is convenient? We can use this to our advantage when it comes to parlaying with Queen Leia about the tariffs she puts on Arkanis goods.”

Armitage narrows his eyes.

That is… probably what he should have expected from his father.

Brendol sighs through his nose before casually holding the piece of paper over one of his many candles. It burns up easily, the flame rushing to gobble up thin paper. 

The only way for Armitage to communicate with Brendol. Useless.

Armitage takes a deep, fortifying breath before bowing sharply and leaving.

He, more than anyone, knows when he is not wanted.

~

Fae Lands can be treacherous if one is not careful.

The hills roll and heave like living things. Flowers whisper sweet words, things one’s heart wishes to hear. Early morning mists bring along mirages. The lower faeries titter too, holding nightly dances—loud and filled with revelry.

Silencer takes him past them all, sticking his nose up at all the distractions. Time is inconsequential—the distances consisting of the lengths of dreams, of happy memories, of thoughts, of desires.

Kyo trusts his steed to guide him through it all, trusts him above all else but his Master.

Soon, the magic of the Fae Lands fade and the world becomes the mundane of the human half. Kylo shudders, a chill running down the length of his spine.

Snoke had provided no address, no letter. 

Only his word: _the magic within the human prince is the strongest magic in the land. Follow it like a beacon._

Kylo tilts his head to the wind, weaker here over the border. But he can feel it, even now. The magic within the prince. The magic stolen from Snoke.

Silencer tosses his head, growing impatient.

Kylo runs his gloved hand through the horse’s mane, shushing him. “Soon,” he promises quietly, “you will run through the human villages and eat the dreams of peaceful sleepers.”

Hearing his words, the horse grows silent, satisfied with the promise.

~

Time is running out.

There is no sign of the missing Prince Ben. Even Techie, trusting Techie, had begun to question if he was ever going to show up at all. Brendol has not ordered a search party and Maratelle falls silent, not helping or hindering in any way.

Armitage is already poorly thought of—openly by Brendol, less so by the court.

Perhaps it will surprise no one when they discover how he had stolen a horse by nightfall and rode outside of the castle’s lands, into the surrounding forests. An overly long branch snags at his cheek, hot blood dribbling down from the cut.

Armitage wipes at it with a gloved hand, giving the tree a disdainful look.

The horse carries on, through the woods, nickering softly. He has no words to comfort the poor creature, taken from the comforts of her stall into the abyss of night, so he simply settles for patting her neck.

The night is silent, except for the buzzing of insects. Under the moonlight, Armitage studies a stolen map.

Alderaan is far to the south, to the center of the continent, far from northern, rainy Arkanis. A lot of land to cover, truly, in but four days. Closer to three now.

He snorts.

What sort of prince would go gallivanting across a country alone? How could he think that safe? He hopes that Ben at least disguised himself somehow. Or perhaps trained himself.

If he brought a bodyguard, Armitage would still worry. But he had not mentioned it in any of his letters.

He can just assume Ben naive or stupid. But Techie thought he was handsome, from tracing the special portrait Alderaan sent. The raised grooves of Ben’s cheeks, his nose, to the whirls of stray hair, escaped from his hair tie.

Armitage had seen the other portraits too—those meant for the seeing. Handsome is something that he could attest to, even with those overlarge ears.

He wonders what sort of man Ben is. Rash? Unthinking? Kind?

Would he even fit on Armitage’s horse?

That makes him pause for a brief moment.

No, probably not, Armitage decides. But he will burn that bridge when he comes to it.

~

He travels overnight, encountering no one in the woods.

Once he reaches Mother Lake, he slips from the horse’s side and leads her to the water. The horse drinks, tail lashing out to swap at flies.

Similarly, Armitage’s throat has gone parched. He’d taken careful sips from his canteen on the ride, but it’s empty now. He moves to kneel at the freshwater lake’s side.

Normally, it is rude to drink without first asking for permission.

He is sure that the Mother Goddess will forgive him for his trespass. Armitage fills his canteen and drinks before filling it once more, for later. 

The horse has noticed his actions, watching warily. 

 _She needs a name_. _Millicent_ , he traces into the coat of her fur. She will never hear him call her that, but for now it’ll do. It’s as good a name as any, the same name as the wire cat Techie had made for him.

Armitage climbs back onto the saddle and continues further on.

~

Time passes through his fingers like sand.

There had been no search party for Prince Ben and there is certainly no search for Armitage. He eats the meagre rations he’d brought with the horse and canteen. Several times, he braves entering towns—the eyes of villagers always, always finding the stigma that his half striped clothing bears and the fire red of his long hair.

Armitage readjusts his ponytail, making it tighter. Stray hairs have fallen around his face. And issue for later.

A nonissue, really, when compared with the gravity of the missing prince.

He sighs, leaving the small village he’d found himself in. The loaf of bread he’d bought from the sole baker is good, warm and slightly sweet. It will last him until the next village, at the rate Millicent goes.

Time is running out to bring Techie’s true love to his side, to have the cure to the curse that hung over his darling brother like a noose.

Armitage wants to take no chances.

He curses Ben again.

~

Before he knows it, it’s the day of the Techie’s birth. Only hours before the Ball. Hours before he expects the curse to take place, if their preparations fall through.

Armitage rides back to the castle, taking a far-flung route, fingering his woven bracelet.

Still, he sees no sign of a misplaced traveler. No abandoned horse, no body, no sign of anything. 

It seems as if Prince Ben just… vanished into thin air.

Or, perhaps, Armitage and he had passed each other by. If Armitage had any luck at all, Ben would be in the castle, entertaining Techie and making him smile.

He could take any scorn his father felt for him, any amount of sweet sounding insults Maratelle could send his way.

All for his brother to be happy.

~

Magic pulses in the air, twisting and… _wrong._

Kylo looks up, sensing the distortion in the air. His horse notices too, nickering warily. He places a gloved hand on the horse’s neck. “Shh,” he says, trying to track this magic to its source.

He shuts his eyes and takes a breath, allowing himself to reach outwards.

The human prince.

Lying asleep. Cold. On the floor, surrounded by books.

 _Books_? 

An old, musty smell to them. The smell of home. _His brother, his brother… where could he have gone? How could he have abandoned him?_ Despair chokes Kylo like nothing ever has, wrapping its long fingers around his throat. He cries, tears escaping his eyes.

Kylo takes a breath.

This isn’t him, aren’t his thoughts. He pulls away from them forcibly, a snap echoing in the air.

So, the magic the human prince stole finally turned on him. It suits him well. Humans are not to handle such things; not to mention they hardly treat magic with the respect it so rightly deserves.

Sleeping, the prince would be an easier target.

Kylo’s fingers itch beneath his gloves.

Soon. Soon, he promises himself.

~

When Armitage leads Millicent through the castle walls, he isn’t greeted by a single living soul. Which is odd, even for him. No servants scurry from building to building. No animals stir. 

Millicent shies away from the castle, eyes so wide that he could see the white edges of them.

 _What’s gotten into you_? He thinks, throwing up his hands in frustration. He can only fight so long with a horse. Armitage gives up, trusting Millicent to stay where she is, in the courtyard of the castle.

He walks alone, footsteps echoing in the silence.

Not even a single bird sings.

He shudders, a chill creeping down his spine.

 _Everything is fine_ , he thinks. _I still have time_.

He follows a familiar path through the entrance of the kitchens. Servant territory, Armitage knows. But he came from them, and he uses their secret doors and passageways to his own advantage.

Dough for what would be bread is abandoned on a countertop, the flour upon it hardly touched.

Sprawled, on the floor, is a kitchen woman. Her body is splayed and motionless, all limbs slack. Her hair swims under her, long dark waves of it curling gently at the ends.

Cautiously, Armitage approaches. He kneels at her side and ungloves, holding a bare hand above her mouth and nose.

She’s breathing. Slowly. Far too slowly for anything. The servant’s sunk into deep sleep… a sleep like death. 

 _Techie_.

Armitage pulls his glove back on and rushes, pushing through the old passageways he’d played in as a child. He comes across more bodies, fallen where they stood, in the middle of tasks. He dodges abandoned laundry, tools, broken platters.

Up the stairs he goes, running now to Techie’s bedroom.

He pushes the door open, it crashing against the wall. His chest heaves as he scans the room.

Empty.

Techie isn’t here.

Armitage’s heart pounds sickeningly in his chest. He runs out, checking his own room next. No one. 

Brendol is asleep outside of his own room, with Maratelle asleep within it. It should amuse him to see both of them this way, unconscious and unable to protect themselves, with Brendol snoring softly. But it only adds to his fear.

He runs to the library—his own favorite hiding spot.

And falls to his knees.

Techie is asleep, curled up around the wire cat he’d made for Armitage. More wire surrounds him, along with tweezers and a small pair of clips. He looks… peaceful, a smile on his lips.

Armitage crawls forwards, reaching out with shaking hands.

Techie is still warm, still breathing.

Still so full of life.

He has so much to live for. A kingdom that adores their pretty prince. A fiancé—if Armitage could just find him! A glorious fate, sitting upon the throne of Arkanis.

Armitage doesn’t cry, doesn’t let himself cry.

 _I will fix this,_ he traces onto the palm of Techie’s hand, over a small, short scratch that the clipper had surely caused. _I will find Prince Ben and bring him here. I promise. I love you._

He gathers Techie in his arms and carries him to one of the more comfortable chaise lounges, lying him onto its surface. Armitage pulls a blanket from the chaise’s back and covers his brother.

On the way out of the room, he bends and picks up the wire cat. He tucks it into his tunic’s pocket, on the solid black side of it.

He does not look back, even when it pains him.

~

The source of the magic is getting closer. He can feel it tugging at his own magic, luring him with almost whispered words. Vines wrap around the castle, thorns protruding from them.

It’s beautiful, in a way.

Another thing taken from Fae Lands.

His horse snorts, tossing his head before stopping.

“What is it?” Kylo asks.

Silencer is uneasy, which is unusual for the nightmare. He looks closer, looking for what exactly could be putting him off. The magic is all around him, soothing.

His eyes droop closed.

Silencer bucks, tossing Kylo from his back.

Landing on the ground is less than pleasant. His body aches with pain. But he’s awake now, adrenaline thudding through his veins. He puts his hand on the hilt of his flamberge.

“Who is there?” Kylo calls, reaching out with his magic.

The foreign magic calls back, humming a half remembered lullaby. The thorny vines wave with the breeze, beckoning him forwards. Kylo snaps away. 

Silencer has left his side, pawing instead at a thick coil of vines.

“What is it?” Kylo says, heart pounding in his chest. The fae magic is acting on its own, the curse spreading. What he sees only serves to make him more convinced of that.

A horse lies on its side, asleep beneath the vines.

Silencer hesitates before turning away, leaving its slumber alone.

Odd.

And odder still. From the vines grows a monster. Kylo only sees it when it’s too late.

The creature, scales a deep plum color, unfolds itself from its stem and launches itself at Kylo. He sidesteps it, freeing his flamberge, the fire of it bursting to life, seering heat across his cheek.

The vines that sway and move do so more unnaturally.

How had he not felt their presence?                    

~

Armitage leaves the way he came. But there is no Millicent waiting for him.

Only a dark haired man fighting off strange, dream-like creatures with a burning sword, an eerie horse at his side.

It’s a strange sight, sure, but he does not allow it to still his hand. He unsheathes his sword and leaps forwards, diving into battle. Lunge, parry. His sword glides through their forms as easily as it would butter.

The dark haired stranger notices him, fixing him with a look. “You!” he cries.

And in the moment of weakness, a monster leaps at him, tearing at his face with its claw.

Armitage leaps, sword first, slashing it away.

Blood runs from a wound stretching down his face. His eye is shut and already looking a tad swollen. He grabs the man by his tunic and hauls him towards the weird horse.

Armitage leaps on first, pulling the man behind him. He urges the horse forwards and away from the castle, away from poor, sleeping Techie, away from the monsters that have emerged, seemingly, from nowhere. 

The stranger’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling Armitage’s back firmly against his broad chest. His cheeks flush with warmth and Armitage prays the stranger does not bring up his rapid heartbeat.

The stranger stays quiet the entire ride.

~

Why Silencer obeys this human is a mystery to Kylo. He doesn’t do anything to stop his foolish steed, however. His eye burns alongside half of his face. Sleep clings to him like a second skin. The warmth of the odd man sitting snugly in front of him only encourages it.

His head falls forwards, until his forehead rests on the stranger’s back. “What do I call you?” he asks.

To owe a debt to a human is not what he had expected when Snoke first gave his orders.

The human does not answer. Perhaps he already knows the power that names hold.

It’s still quite rude of him.

Kylo snorts.

The human rides them through a forest, only stopping once they reach a body of water. Kylo pauses, tilting his head. Magic charges the air, different than the dampening force that had surrounded the castle.

Without saying a word, the man before him pushes Kylo’s arms away and leaves the safety of the horse’s back. And then he turns around, extending both arms at Kylo.

“What are you doing?” Kylo demands. He winces, bringing a gloved hand up to touch his eye. It comes away bloody.

The man only repeats the motion, looking far less patient this time. He’s an odd looking creature: long orange hair tied back, high cheekbones, and a strange half patterned outfit. And those eyes. Pale blue-green, the very same shade as Snoke’s own.

Is this the human prince? Kylo thinks, cocking his head.

The third gesture is what convinces him to move. He gets off the horse, using one of the human’s hands for leverage, and then stumbles, his head going light.

The human falls, with Kylo crashing onto him, wincing all the while. His side, he realizes with alarm. Blood oozes through his tunic. When had that…?

The other still does not speak. He frees himself from Kylo and goes to the water, bending down to soak a handkerchief. He presses it against Kylo’s face, the cool water soothing against overheated skin.

“Who are you?” Kylo croaks again. A second favor. Just why is the human doing all this? What does he want?

The man scowls at him something fierce before peeling away. He finds a pad of paper and a pencil and begins to write. Kylo takes the handkerchief from where the man left it and lifts his tunic, pressing the cloth against his side.

The man shoves the pad of paper into Kylo’s face.

He slaps it away, grimacing. When the man bends to pick it up, Kylo casts a quick spell, to translate whatever the human wrote in his strange, spindly letters.

 _You can call me Hux_ , the human wrote. _I can’t speak._

Kylo lifts his head at that, meeting Hux’s strange eyes. “You can’t speak,” he repeats dumbly. Well, he supposes then that the human wasn’t being rude. “Why did you pull me away from those creatures?”

Hux frowns. _To save your life. If you haven’t noticed, you’re injured._

“What were they?”

_I was hoping you would know._

He shakes his head. A fog hangs around him, something he can’t stop or control. Slowly, he lies down, pillowing his head with his arm. When sleep comes to him, it’s much like a blanket, heavy and warm.

~

Armitage sighs to himself. Of course the other man would fall asleep without introducing himself properly or stating just why he’d been lurking in the castle’s courtyard. He himself cannot sleep so soon. His heart still pounds after such a misadventure.

He lowers himself to the ground beside the stranger.

Just where could he be from? Armitage wonders. He’s dressed oddly, in an overly large tunic and pants, both pitch black and bearing no symbols. The cape around his shoulders is also unfamiliar—entirely woven but for a fur fringe. It isn’t a common style around these parts.

And the horse.

Armitage stares at it from the corner of his eyes. It’s truly a monstrous thing. Much taller than any horse has the right to be, with a barrel shaped chest and chestnut, bordering on _red_ , eyes.

As if sensing his thoughts, the awful creature lets out a huff through its nostrils.

Armitage shudders and resolves not too look at it too closely, not until its owner decides to wake up.

He pulls off his gloves, tucking them into a pocket, before running his hands through the man’s hair. It’s long, dark, and so very soft. Slowly, he braids it back, away from the man’s face, where it hung and occasionally obscured his sight.

And when he does, things come together.

The man half asleep in his lap is no one else but Alderaan’s Prince Ben. His heart jabs painfully against his ribs. 

Armitage retrieves his fingers from where they’d been, tangled in Ben’s hair, and shakily puts on his gloves. He does not allow himself to press his nails into his palms, no matter how much he wants to.

Prince Ben.

Prince Ben.

He wants to curse, scream, rage, tear out his hair—

And he does none of it.

Armitage swallows heavily. He waits. He allows himself the comfort of playing with Prince Ben’s hair. Just for a little while longer.

~

Kylo startles awake, bolting up. He’d been warm. Comfortable.

The strange man scowls at him. Quickly, he retrieves the pad of paper and pencil, jotting down a note. He shoves it into Kylo’s face.

_Prince Ben. You were late and don’t for a minute think that I will forgive you for this. Don’t move too quickly. You are still injured. Soon we must move and go to Prince Brendol’s side and free him of the curse._

Kylo frowns. He sure does not know who _Ben_ might be. 

But the prince… must be the human Snoke sent him after. How easy then, for the human to lead him to his prey.

“I’m sorry,” Kylo says softly. “But I don’t know who you are.”

The man jerks back. Then he writes: _I told you, you may call me Hux._

He does not answer in full. So. He’s hiding something. Kylo holds back a grimace. But then again aren’t they all?

“Well then,” he says, staggering to his feet. The world spins around him for a brief moment. “Shall we go?”

Hux gestures. _Your horse fell victim to the curse._

“But I didn’t?”

Hux shrugs helplessly. Rage boils in Kylo’s belly. A human. What would he know? _You woke up. If you didn’t, I suppose I would drag your body to Prince Brendol and have you two kiss._

Kylo wrinkles his nose. “That’s… creepy,” he manages. Really creepy.

_Your horse was creepier._

Was… “Where is he anyway?” Kylo says. Perhaps there is still a chance that he’ll be able to wake Silencer up. Without the creature, the trek to the castle will be much longer than it needs to be.

Hux gestures one-handedly at a strangely formed rock.

He looks closer and all his breath leaves him. “Silencer,” Kylo whispers, shaken to his core.

The nightmare creature who’d been his loyal steed for years nothing more than an earthen decoration. The slope of Silencer’s face is still visible, deep lines where the horse had thick lashes.

“No,” Kylo says, hand running along the top of Silencer’s stone mane. “Silencer…”

The nightmare does not stir. He cannot feel him, cannot feel his once constant presence.

A hand finds itself on his shoulder. A dangerous thing to do with Kylo so strung up.

_If you break the curse, your horse will certainly return._

Kylo bats the thick notepad away. “You have no tact,” he practically growls. “Can’t you see I’m grieving?”

Hux scowls back at him, undaunted. He’s quick to snatch up the pad and continue writing. _Save your grieving for later. Without your horse, it will take longer to return to the castle, but once we do, I can lead you to the prince._

The prince. Kylo nearly bites his tongue.

Of course the reason for everything is the stolen magic, twisted by human hands. It’s the prince’s fault that Kylo’s oldest and dearest companion is no more.

All the better for this man to lead Kylo straight to him.

“Which way do we head?”

~

Trekking through the forest is much less pleasant without Millicent or Prince Ben’s horse, Silencer. The vines that had wrapped around the castle had spread in the little time that they rested. Violet flowers bloom alongside thorns, a sickly sweet scent far too cloying for Armitage’s taste.

Ben doesn’t even seem to notice it.

Perhaps they had overly fragrant flowers in Alderaan. Armitage had never visited.

He takes them on a different route, one that is sure to pass through a village. His stomach rumbles lowly. They can only run on fumes for so long before their legs collapse beneath them.

Armitage does not mean to pry (though how he’d love to hear how a prince ended up so lost, with a _flaming_ sword as a weapon), but he cannot stop eyeing Ben.

“What is it?” Ben asks, gruff and low.

He isn’t sweet or kind or anything that Techie deserved. True love or not, he won’t be marrying Techie until he proves himself worthy, Armitage tells himself.

 _Why did you have no escort?_ he writes instead.

Ben is taken aback. “Why would I?” he says finally, a hand upon the hilt to his sword. “I can protect myself.”

He adds egotistic to the list of Ben’s flaws. _Clearly. And that’s why you’ll surely sport a scar._

Ben winces at that, but it’s what the prince deserved. Without Armitage there, would he even have applied a poultice to reduce swelling and risk of infection?

“Are you very popular? With your habit of using sharp words,” Ben says, walking faster. Thorns from a low hanging vine snag at his fine cloak, tearing it slightly. He curses, loudly, and it all serves to amuse Armitage.

This prince would not survive without him, he muses to himself. He leads them from the shadows of the forest into the village of Omera, one of the first he’d searched for Ben in.

And it is empty. 

The silence so tentative and fragile, Armitage feels like he can break it with a sudden breath.

“What is this?” Ben asks, brows furrowed.

Armitage frowns. _Perhaps the curse has spread_ , he writes. 

Ben looks at him strangely.

He gestures. _The vines. They’d surrounded the castle, where those succumbed to the prince’s curse. Is it not a stretch to guess that the curse will spread? Even your horse fell, farther from the source._

Ben grimaces, looking away from Armitage’s painfully cramped handwriting. “You only dig a deeper grave with your words,” he says with a sigh.

That’s enough to get a smile out of Armitage.

_Come. Let’s see if we can find anything to eat._

~

Hux leads them into a person’s home, stepping over sleeping bodies. The mother of the small family had started dinner. A large pot of soup sits over a small flame.

Without stopping to consult Kylo in any way, Hux approaches. He finds a spoon and tastes the soup, nodding to himself.

“Is it good?” Kylo asks.

Hux finds two bowls and ladles them a portion each. They eat where they stand. 

Kylo does not really taste the soup. It’s like ash when one compares the food served at every one of Master Snoke’s feasts. But it is nourishment desperately needed for the journey ahead.

He hardly notices when Hux breezes past him, placing the empty bowl in the sink.

“Are you done eating?” Kylo calls after the man’s retreating back. He doesn’t answer but also does not stop Kylo from digging into a second portion of the soup.

Around him, the trace of foreign magic stirs, tugging at his shirtsleeve.

 _Where is Armitage?_ cries out the voice. _I’m so alone._

Kylo drowns in misery, limbs weighed down by everything. His eyelids slowly lose the battle to stay open. The bowl slips from lax fingers, shattering against the floor.

Hux returns, running. 

The magic stops its whispering.

Kylo blinks. “I almost fell asleep,” he says.

The words carry more weight than they should.

~

Armitage frowns to himself, even as he leads the prince away, towards the castle. Ben had nearly succumbed to the curse when he’d been left alone. Even a few minutes could cause Armitage lose his opportunity to save his brother.

He’s tired. 

Bone weary.

But if he lies down to rest, who knows if he will wake again?

The curse is unpredictable. Armitage cannot allow a foolish mistake of his to ruin his brother’s chance at life and at love.

Armitage glances at Ben out of the corner of his eye. Ben is scowling at the ground itself, hair getting in his face, sticking against his sweaty skin. He swats at a fly and misses, slapping himself.

It’s then that he thanks the faerie that took his voice from him. Without it, Armitage would have burst into hysterical laughter then and there and surely would’ve been slain by the prince. Princes are touchy things when it comes to pride.

He holds up an arm and Ben walks into it, breath leaving his body.

“What is it?” Ben hisses.

 _Listen,_ Armitage thinks, gesturing to his ear.

Ben stills, shutting his eyes, tilting his head to the right.

The clicking of claws against the ground. Multiple bodies, thrashing. The sound of chewing.

Armitage draws his sword, slowly, slowly. He moves forwards, hiding behind a tree’s thick trunk. He leans forwards, peeking his head out from behind the safety of cover.

Three of those monsters are devouring a horse, this one white and dappled. The monsters are otherworldly, both scaled and feathered, with jaws that would put the wolves of the forest to shame.

Armitage cannot look away, entranced and horrified all the same. His hands shake. Mentally, he curses himself for the show of weakness.

Warmth blankets him suddenly. He looks up, startled. Ben appears at his side, cloak falling over Armitage.

“How many of them are there?” Ben whispers.

It’s then and there that Armitage realizes the slight height Ben has on him. The breadth of his shoulders. The intense look to his dark eyes.

 _Handsome_ , Armitage thinks, like some love-sick maid, reading novels that end too well to be considered realistic. He shakes himself out of his stupor, showing Ben three fingers.

“I’ll go for the biggest one,” Ben says. “When they are distracted, you get the others.”

Armitage nods.

Without hesitation, Ben throws himself into the fight with a shout that alarms the creatures. Ben’s flamberge bursts into flame the moment he draws it from the sheath on his back. With a strike, Ben cuts the biggest creature in half. He looks as if he’s dancing, twirling from one monster to the next.

Armitage leaps into the fray during the commotion, slicing one creature and then the next.

The creatures die too easily.

Armitage breathes rapidly, his chest heaving. His hands shake, having expected more of a fight. There’s a twinge of pain in his ribs, nothing unusual for him. He cleans his sword before putting it away.

“You’ve got blood on your chin,” Ben says, like it’s something normal. The prince wets his thumb and cleans Armitage’s face, finger just missing his bottom lip.

Armitage blinks, forbidding the blood from rushing to his cheeks. He blinks again, still taken aback.

“Which way now?” Ben asks.

Armitage frowns. He returns his eyes to the horse. How many like it had died in their sleep? Ravaged by monsters that have no right to exist?

He walks, a little further. 

Where there had been a horse, there must surely be a rider.

All he finds is a piece of wood, painstakingly carved into the shape of a man. Gently, Armitage places his fingers upon the wood, tracing out the lines that surely made up a neatly pulled back hairstyle.

 _What were you_? he wants to ask, hand upon the figure’s cheek. _Who were you?_

“Hux,” Ben says, the patience, if there had ever been much to begin with, leaking from his voice. “We need to keep on moving.”

Armitage lets his hand drop. He leads the way again, not risking a glance back at the tragic scene.

~

Kylo sees many sleeping bodies, some living, some not. The thorny vines have only grown, flowers blossoming around them. With Hux at his side, the curse doesn’t touch him.

 _How odd_ , Kylo thinks, eying the man. There is no magic about him, no magic within him.

Could one be so repulsive to magic to avoid a curse?

Apparently so for one like Hux.

Hux fixes his hair, brushing stray hairs back into the neat ponytail he wears. The dying sunlight catches him, turning his ginger hair into liquid fire itself.

His breath catches in his throat.

Hux is beautiful.

He curses himself, curses his weak heart. _Hux is human_ , he tells himself. _Weak. Fragile. Short-lived, compared to the fae._

And more importantly, Hux is leading him to the human prince, the one whose heart belongs to Snoke. The human prince that Hux writes about so fondly.

The human prince that Hux must surely love.

They pass through more human towns, each as the last. People sleeping, or worse. Animals amongst the humans. Vines twisting around slack bodies, that sleep-sweet smile on faces.

A chill runs through Kylo.

All this to serve as a reminder. How dangerous magic could be in the hands of a human. How it does not belong in these strange, barren lands.

 Hux turns back, staring at the stalled Kylo. He shakes his head and sighs, reaching out and snagging the cuff to Kylo’s sleeve. 

Kylo allows himself to be dragged forwards by the slighter man, towards a thick, less manicured section of trees. Surely, they cannot be back at the castle grounds. What groundskeeper would allow it to fall to such disorder?

Hux holds a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet.

The sun continues to fall. The air is still, silent, with no insects to fill it with noise. Kylo can speak with Hux, but there is no way for Hux to communicate back.

What a predicament they find themselves in.

Hux’s fingers—cold to the touch—tap something out against Kylo’s skin. Something that escapes him utterly.

He can see it in the sudden flash of despair in Hux’s eyes.

“One tap for no, two for no,” Kylo whispers, lips against the shell of Hux’s ear.

Heat creeps against the skin of Hux neck, flushing against his cheeks.

“Is there someone there?”

One tap.

Okay.

“Are those creatures near?”

One tap.

“Are we in danger?”

One tap again.

“Well, what is it?” Kylo hisses.

Hux snaps, clicking his teeth together audibly. It sounds painful.

Kylo winces. He doesn’t dare apologize, doesn’t dare move. The code they’d created now is rudimentary at best. How frustrating it must be for Hux to have no one understand.

Hux, however, does not share Kylo’s hangups. He plucks the flamberge from Kylo’s belt, the scarlet flames of it reflecting off the sharp lines of Hux’s face.

He cuts a path through the overgrowth trees, through the vines, through the violet flowers. 

Hux is a storm, overtaken by passion.

Kylo can do little but watch.

The flamberge takes its toll, winding Hux and leaving him breathless. Kylo takes it back, pulling the hilt from a loosened grip and sheathing it. He brings Hux to lean against him.

The slender man is shuddering, wrought with chill.

“Let’s find shelter,” Kylo murmurs.

Hux hardly moves, only taking shaky breaths.

Kylo brings them forwards, along the path Hux cut, until they reach a grey stone building. The door is ajar, hinges creaking with the wind. A woman lies asleep just outside of it, a basket of dirty laundry strewn about.

He takes it for a sign, and ushers Hux forth, into the building, safe from the weather.

Kylo locates a fallen chair, righting it before placing Hux on it. The other man doesn’t fight; just simply lets Kylo do as he wishes. 

He shuts the door behind them, relighting the hearth.

It’s a small building, one for servants. Little furniture is about. More floor space is occupied by those taken by the curse.

With the little light of the fire, Hux fishes for his pad of paper and writes. He hands it over when he’s done.

 _These are the servants’ quarters_ , Hux has written. _Do you think it is safe to spend the night here?_

Kylo shrugs. “You’re tired,” he says simply. “Perhaps we can spare a few hours to recuperating. How far is the prince from here?”

 _He’s in the library_ , Hux writes. _But we don’t know how many creatures got inside._ His hand cramps and he massages it, looking away from Kylo.

Kylo wants to press the other man for answers. Just where is the library? Where to go? What did the prince look like? How long would it take?

So that he may not see the look of pain that will cross Hux’s face when Kylo takes the prince’s heart.

To spare Hux that sort of pain.

Hux curls up in the chair, tucking his knees nearly to his cheek, using his cape as a blanket. The fire flickers across his face, illuminating his nearly translucent eyelashes against pallid cheeks.

Kylo simply stands and watches.

From underneath Hux’s sleeve falls a woven bracelet, hanging just barely around his hand. It’s pretty, and clearly made with love.

He tilts his head.

There is much that escapes him.

~

Armitage wakes up with a jolt, realizing that he had, in fact, fallen asleep. He’s overly warm and stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. His cloak has been joined by Ben’s own, wrapping around him loosely.

The fire has died down to a mere ember.

He stands, pulling the cloaks off of him and folding them neatly.

“You’ve woken up?” Ben says, around a bite of slightly stale bread. He hands Armitage a torn off piece.

His stomach twists uncomfortably. He shakes his head.

Ben continues to eat, dark eyes never leaving Armitage’s face. He’s a curious creature, hunched over in the dark, looking more beast than man. It isn’t too hard to imagine the prince as a wild fae.

What would he tithe? Armitage wonders idly.

Ben eats in silence, eyes only occasionally flicking to Armitage’s face. He washes down the bread with a cup of water. Then he rises, collecting his cloak and draping it over his shoulders. 

“Shall we continue?” Ben asks.

Armitage rises, his body protesting against the movement. He shakes out his cloak and wraps it around himself, like another layer of protection against whatever they will find. He nods at Ben, trying to determine what emotions are swimming in his amber eyes.

He fails.

Armitage leads them through narrow servant’s passageways, occasionally stepping over fallen bodies. He does not check who is breathing and who is not. He cannot; not when he recognizes the faces of those who had been kind to him.

He leads them up a spiraling staircase, past fallen trays of breakfast, porridge surely cold by now.

The vines of thorn and violet flowers grow even here.

Armitage pushes open a door and lets them into the library.

Just as Armitage had left him, Techie lies across a couch, hair fanning behind his soft, youthful face. Asleep, there are no wrinkles, no tension, no worries that had plagued him.

He steps forwards, hardly feeling his legs move, and falls at Techie’s side. He holds Techie’s hand, tracing out words he so desperately wished his brother could hear.

_You are loved. You are not alone. You will never be alone._

Ben finds his place at Armitage’s side, staring at Techie’s face with an intensity that seems out of place.

“You’re his brother,” Ben says. No a question, a statement.

Even with different mothers, they looked dreadfully similar. But Techie’s skin has a radiance to it. His hair is shiny and smooth. His beauty elevates them, so that not everyone realizes at first glance.

“The prince is your brother,” Ben repeats, this time with more urgency.

Armitage looks back at him and sees how terribly he trembles.

 _What does that matter?_ he writes. _Even if I were not his bastard brother, I would still search for you._

Ben blinks. “Is that so?”

Armitage snorts. He gestures quickly at Techie. _Get on with it,_ he jots, handing the pad of paper over. All of him trembles with nervous energy.

The curse is so close to being broken. So damn close.

Ben kneels beside him.

~

He stares at the sleeping prince, his face smooth and unworried. His hands loosely clasped across his chest. It would be so easy to pluck his heart from his chest and to return the stolen magic to Snoke.

But the prince does not look evil. He is slender in the way that Hux is and so very delicate.

Kylo leans forwards and presses his lips against the prince's own.

~

Nothing.

Nothing happens.

Ben leans away from Techie, blinking. There's no change to the rise and fall of Techie's chest. There's no hint of anything at all.

Armitage frowns.

Ben kisses Techie again, to the same nonresults. His brows furrow. Ben looks to Armitage for guidance, mouth falling open to ask a question.

But Armitage cannot think. He cannot breathe. He has failed his brother for perhaps the final time. His hands tremble uncontrollably. 

Armitage does not realize he is crying. Not until Ben begins to wipe the tears away with his big, clumsy hands. Armitage folds into himself and lets himself sob silently, like he has not done in years. Like he has not done since his mother died.

"There, there," Ben says awkwardly, pulling Armitage closer. He's _warm_ , blindingly warm.

 _I was so close_ , he taps along Ben's arms. _I found you. I kept you safe. I brought you to Techie. You kissed him. He called you handsome, before. You were supposed to be his true love, his happily ever after. Why aren't you?_

It should be wrong to feel so betrayed by this. It should be wrong that in some, sick way, he feels relieved.

But he cannot help his heart.

The strength leaves him, ebbing out slowly and then all at once. Ben helps ease Armitage to the ground. He stays there, staring listlessly at the rise and fall of his brother’s chest.

To sleep for eternity, wrapped in dreams. Would it truly be as bad a death as he had originally thought?

Armitage rests his forehead against the fabric Techie’s clothes. His brother smells of flowers, always flowers. Today the flowers are fading.

“Hux,” Ben says, hand grazing his shoulder. “We can’t stay here long.”

 _I will die here_ , Hux thinks. He doesn’t move, doesn’t intend to.

If he could turn to stone this very second, he’d do so, to stay forever at his brother’s side.

Ben sighs. “Hux...” he says lowly. “I lied to you.”

~

Hux stares up at him, eyes wide. _Lied?_ he mouths.

“I am not Prince Ben.”

The confession is heavy on his tongue, fighting to remain a secret. He can imagine how disappointed Snoke will be with Kylo returning with only failure.

But he must not betray this man who has lost everything.

This man who is beautiful, who is strong, who had treated him like an equal, nothing to fear or to expect magical feats from.

Hux’s brows pinch low on his face. He stares at Kylo, never once looking away. He pulls his notepad and pencil out and writes, pauses, and starts over again.

When he comes up with the words to say, he hands them over.

_If you are not Prince Ben, then you look remarkably like him. Is this some miserable attempt at comforting me?_

Kylo frowns. “I’m telling the truth.”

Hux pulls away, tear tracks visible on his cheeks. He stumbles to a desk, rifling through the books there, the ones that had grown a skin of dust. The dust flies into the air as Hux flips through the pages with shaking hands. He comes away with a single sheet of paper, one that had been pressed against the pages of a fairy tale, tucked away like a secret in the night.

When Kylo sees what it is, all the blood in his face drains away.

Inexplicably, there is a small portrait of Kylo held between Hux’s forefinger and thumb. One that he had never had made. One where his hair is pulled back and away from his atrocious ears, one where his face softens with a smile.

It is much like seeing a perfect copy of one’s face, one that had no right to exist.

He traces the plane of his copy’s face. “This is not me,” he croaks.

 _Look at it closer, then,_ Hux writes. _That’s your face._

Kylo shakes his head fiercely. “It can’t be me. I’m a faerie.”

This secret, one he has kept so tightly to himself, spills forth and away.

For all its worth, Hux takes it in stride. _Are you? But you’ve touched iron and did not flinch._

“What do you mean?” He turns his eyes upon Hux, eyes wide with his fear. He feels young again, when Snoke first found him and took him in, with other fae orphans the humans created.

_Your sword. Isn’t it made of iron?_

He hardly understands the other man over the beating of his heart.

_All of my weaponry is of iron. Here._

Hux unsheathes a small dagger he had hidden within a sleeve. The metal of it does not sting like he thought iron would. When Hux presses the flat of it against Kylo’s exposed skin, it doesn’t even have the dignity to prickle.

Satisfied, Hux puts away the blade.

_See? You’re human, just as I am._

~

Kylo walks the length of the human castle, stepping over creeping vines and the flowers they spout alongside sleeping people. Following shortly behind him, like a listless shadow, Hux follows.

He finds more items made of iron and holds them in his bare, calloused hands. Not a single thing burns him. Nothing leaves a mark.

A profound emptiness opens within his chest.

All his life had been a lie.

And for what?

How much had Snoke lied to him? And for what purpose?

They find themselves in the kitchens, walking around sleeping servants. They scrounge up a meal of cold meats, cheese, and more slightly stale bread. Kylo hardly tastes his food. It all tastes like ash in his mouth.

Hux passes him a flask. He drinks without asking what exactly it is. It burns all the way down.

Kylo coughs, wiping his mouth. “What is that?”

Hux sneers, eyes sparkling overbright. He swallows down the rest of the flask and then puts it away. _Alcohol_ , he writes, tapping out a pattern against the palm of Kylo’s hand. _You looked like you needed it._

The burning doesn’t go away. It’s this sort of sensation he was hoping to feel after touching iron tools and swords.

“There’s no iron in it, I suppose?” he broods.

 _No_ , Hux taps. 

“Of course not.” He looks up, at the patterned ceiling until the tiles blur with his tears. Kylo blinks them away, refusing to let any escape him.

 _Who were you if not Prince Ben?_ Hux has written. 

“I was told I was a faerie,” Kylo says. “But it was a lie.”

Everything about him must be a lie—the name, the origins, the future that Snoke had promised him once his training in the magical arts was complete. All of it dashed, like glass against the floor.

Hux nudges him, urging him to continue.

“I was a Knight of Ren. One of the Supreme Leader’s apprentices.” Kylo shakes his head. “He tasked me with collecting stolen magic. But the magic was not stolen, was it?” He unclenches a fist, staring at his palm. It’s easy to imagine them as bloody as they must be.

 _A tithe_ , Hux writes. _Parents bargain with the fae for gifts for their children. Techie was given beauty in exchange for his sight. A talent with his hands for his sense of pain._

“What were you given in exchange for your voice?”

Hux flinches at that. He rises to his feet and, with a few quick steps, finds himself in front of a cabinet. He plucks a bottle from a shelf and drinks from it, forgoing a glass entirely.

Kylo waits patiently, until Hux settles at his side.

 _My voice in exchange to lessen Techie’s curse_ , he writes with shaking hands. Hux barks a voiceless laugh. _And yet it had not been enough._

“I thought you said the tithe—”

_Our father was honest in the way he phrased it. His son’s voice for the curse to be lessened. Did not specify which one. It’s fair enough._

Kylo lets out a laugh, even when everything seems so bleak. “What a strange custom,” he decides again. “I had been thought it as all to keep Snoke’s magic away from him. Injustice struck to him by all the jealous fae and human.” But, if Hux is to believed, then it’s just another nail in the coffin; more evidence for how Snoke had lied to him.

The magic had not been Snoke’s to begin with.

His hands are truly stained with sin, doing what Snoke pleased, killing off other fae for their tithes. He’s sick to his stomach. 

_Do you think you were a changeling?_

Kylo blinks at the word.

He knows what it means—human children plucked from their beds and replaced by a copy. Human children, he was taught, that were special, that received the high honor of serving fae masters.

“Perhaps,” he says. But magic comes when he calls. It feels familiar to him, like something innate, not given. There are many more mysteries than he can hope to unravel. “What was Prince Ben like?”

 _I never got to meet him, not truly._ Hux traces the pattern that means _handsome_ against the back of Kylo’s hand. It tickles.

“Still…” he says, trailing off. “What were the stories like?”

 _Brash, but brave. Kind, but mischievous. Loves his mother dearly. Has publicly argued with his father._ Here, Hux hesitates. _I don’t think his father punished him for it though._

“Yours did?”

Hux puts down the pencil. That answers more than Kylo asked.

“I could kill him,” he offers. “While he’s still under the curse.”

 _Don’t._ Hux underlines the word three times. _He’s still needed by this kingdom. I wouldn’t want my brother to sort out the mess that’ll come from all this curse nonsense._

Kylo shakes his head. Only Hux would describe a curse as nonsense. He scoots closer to the other man, tilting his head so that he can lean it against Hux’s shoulder.

Underneath him, Hux stiffens briefly before settling. Hesitantly, Hux raises a hand and pets Kylo’s head, as if he were just an overgrown dog.

It’s nice, to have someone run their fingers through your hair. Kylo lets out a satisfied little hum. 

“You’re so boney,” he says, instead of saying anything close to what he thinks. “You should eat more.”

Hux shoves him away.

Kylo wishes that his touch could linger. That he could press a kiss to those lips.

He doesn’t—not when he’s failed this man so utterly.

~

Armitage lets himself wander through the castle, Ben never too far away. Whatever keeps them from falling asleep and staying that way is more to do with himself than with the fae-stolen man.

He’s walked past the sleeping form of Brendol a few times. It isn’t right for that man to look so peaceful.

Armitage and Ben talk—but never about Techie, not when they’re both powerless to break the curse upon him. Sometimes they spar, practicing in the courtyard, with Phasma’s sleeping form watching.

All the while, vines creep and grow and violet flowers bloom.

Armitage watches them closely, as they curl around bodies, much like lovers. It makes him shudder with the wrongness of that.

He wonders what will happen when everyone is wrapped by the vines, with flowers blooming along their skin. He wonders when the dreamlike monsters will appear.

“My horse,” Kylo mentions once. “It wasn’t a normal horse. It was a nightmare, a fae creature that fed on dreams.”

Armitage can’t help shuddering at that too. _But he fell under the curse too._

Ben swears. “He shouldn’t have,” he says, running a hand roughly through his hair. “It’s like the curse twisted his very nature.”

Armitage leads them to the kitchens, plucking a bottle of spiced wine from the wine racks. He opens it and takes the first gulp, allowing himself to drink deeply before handing it off to Ben.

Ben drinks too, but he can get barely past a minuscule sip, gagging on the taste. 

It’s a cheap amusement, seeing his face twist in disgust. But it’s an amusement nevertheless. Armitage smiles. 

They’ve managed to bake a new batch of bread, after they’ve run out of the stale one the servants had made before falling asleep. It’s warm and soothes him as he eats, tearing small chunks from his loaf.

Small comforts.

They wash after the small meal, using the king’s private bathing chambers. There, the bathtubs are large and enchanted, the water filling it warm and aromatic.

The warmth soaks into Armitage’s very bones. He lets out a silent sigh.

Ben sinks into the water beside him, eyes upon Armitage’s spine. 

Armitage himself does not look at him, does not meet his eyes. He cannot. He sinks deeper into the water and shuts his eyes.

The water bubbles, magic working carefully to keep up the optimum temperature for them both. He wonders idly just what Brendol traded for this luxury.

So lost in thought is he, that he doesn’t notice when Ben finds a cup, fills it with water, and pours it over Armitage’s head. Though the water is warm, it shocks him into spinning around.

His hair hangs in his face, wet and slick against his skin. Armitage does his best to glare at Ben.

Ben for his part doesn’t look guilty. He holds up two hands in a peace offering. The cup floats on by. “I’m just trying to wash your hair,” Ben says.

Armitage huffs, but turns around and lets him.

If he enjoys the sensation of Ben’s fingers running through his hair, he doesn’t let it show.

~

Armitage curses Ben in every way he knows how. He wishes fervently that Ben could hear every single insult, every single swear. 

His legs lead him unwillingly, taking him farther and farther from Ben. He travels through the castle, unable to decide where to go. It’s a strange feeling—like seeing everything through another’s eyes. 

His whole body tingles before something snaps, like a cord wound too tight.

Armitage stumbles forwards three steps before realizing that whatever magic Ben had placed on him is broken.

He turns, slowly, and finds himself near the castle’s library.

Ben, oh sweet Ben. To give him time to escape? He could laugh bitterly. There is no escape with the curse spreading, with the monsters spawning, with the scent of cloying violets.

Armitage’s heart pains him, but if they are going to die, Armitage would like one last moment with Techie.

He carries himself forwards, pushing the doors open and slipping in. He doesn’t bother to shut the door behind him—not when he is sure that it will only delay the inevitable and not even by much.

Techie lies upon the chaise, just as Armitage had left him. There is a small smile on his face. And underneath, there is a small cat, curled up and fast asleep.

Armitage blinks. He hadn’t noticed the poor creature earlier. 

He shakes himself and continues, kneeling beside Techie’s bedside. He takes one of Techie’s hands into his one. _I am so sorry,_ he taps. _I wish I could have done more for you._

The sound of claws against the tiled floor gets closer. He doesn’t let himself sink into despair, does not think of sweet Ben.

Armitage leans forwards, brushing Techie’s hair away from his face, revealing scars from a cruel childhood bully. He presses his lips to Techie’s brow, wishing, desperately, that he could have succeeded in his quest.

He does not notice the buzzing in the air until it envelopes him utterly.

Golden dust explodes into the air. Armitage hacks, covering his face when he coughs. It’s like little daggers against his lungs. His eyes water and overflow.

But when he opens them, all the pain and suffering and despair is worth it.

Techie is awake, rubbing at his temples.

With trembling hands, Armitage reaches out. Techie’s hands are familiar, with their callouses from working with wires and tools and anything he could find, really.

“Armie?” Techie says. “What happened?”

 _The curse,_ he taps. _A curse took you. You fell asleep and only true love could wake you up._

That’s what gets Techie to remember—how Prince Ben had gone missing, how all the King’s plans when to shit.

“True love?” Techie repeats, blinking slowly. 

_It seems that brotherly love falls within the category._

A bright smile breaks out on Techie’s face. He throws himself into Armitage’s arms, hugging his brother close. 

Armitage taps what he had wanted to say while Techie was asleep, all his fears and worries and hopes.

Techie laughs, hearing every last thing.

Armitage stiffens. _There’s something else._

“Oh, now you worry me.”

 _I found Prince Ben. He was taken by a faerie, a long time ago. It seems like your fiancé was a changeling all along._ He hesitates. _I’m sorry._

Techie, however, takes it in stride. He cocks his head. “Is he as handsome as you have claimed his changeling to be?”

He is thankful that Techie cannot see how brightly he blushes. His heart aches—the damned _creatures_. Ben promised to give Armitage time to escape. 

Armitage reaches out, helping Techie to stand. _Let’s go see if I can introduce you._

~

The creature vanishes in a burst of golden dust, just as Kylo lunges for it. He falls forwards, onto his knees onto the ground. The pain is resounding. He grits his teeth and bears it, before rising.

He’s covered in a fine layer of the dust, one that clings to his clothing, to his skin, to every strand of his hair.

Kylo tucks the flamberge away and creeps about the kitchens, looking to see if any of those creatures survived.

The door to the hall bursts open and the world stops.

Hux. 

Hux is there. Whole and disheveled and covered in the same golden dust.

Kylo cannot keep himself from moving, from dashing to Hux’s side and scooping the slighter man up into his arms and spinning them. He can’t look away from Hux’s smile.

Someone else coughs and the world returns to Kylo.

He places Hux back down onto the ground.

The human prince. Hux’s brother, the one he absolutely _adored_.

“You’re awake,” Kylo says dumbly.

The prince smiles gently. His eyes are a faded grey color, like stormy seas. “Yes, it seems so. My brother has told me a lot about you.”

Kylo loses his voice, flustered. "Good things I hope."

Techie hums. "You kept him safe? From monsters?"

His smile falters, but Techie can't see it. "Yes." But the worst monster of all is still around, still alive. And, worst of all, still expects Kylo to bring Techie's heart back to him.

He has to kill one more.

“Do you have horses?” Kylo asks.

That has Techie stumble half a step. “Horses? But of course.”

“Would you lead me to them?” Kylo asks. 

The look Hux gives him speaks a thousand words. _What do you think you’re doing?_ And _Ben, why?_ And so many more things to say. Kylo can’t bear it all.

Techie frowns up leads on, undeterred, pressing his hands against the surfaces they pass. “Why do you need a horse, Prince Ben? Should we worry?”

Hux nods. He holds a hand on his sheath, as if worrying for a reappearance of the monsters. He never strays from Techie’s side.

It’s endearing. Kylo wishes, suddenly, deeply, fiercely, someone was as loyal as that to him.

All around them, the castle is slowly starting to wake up. The vines have receded, along with their flowers. Servants rise on shaky limbs. A woman, dressed in finery, sits up, engulfed by her gown. She tucks a stray lock of hair as she watches the three of them with curious eyes.

As they leave the castle, Techie grabs hold of Hux’s arm and the brothers switch, with Hux leading and Techie never straying from his side.

The younger brother is unarmed, but Kylo is sure that he would fight for his brother if something happened, with nails and teeth and anything he had to spare.

Hux takes them to the stables. Before, all the horses were asleep under a mess of vines. Now they are awake, tails trashing anxiously.

 _Calm_ , Kylo instructs.

The horses settle. Even Hux’s shoulders slump slightly before he catches on and goes on guard again.

“What do you need the horses for?” Techie repeats. He’s hand in hand with Hux, Hux speaking a language only the brothers know.

“I’m going to slay one last monster.”

Hux’s eyes grow wide. 

Techie frowns before speaking. “My brother wants you to take him with you.” He hesitates. “Will you be safe?”

“As safe as I can get,” Kylo says. He looks each horse in the eye, looking for intelligence, for bravery. For something that reminds him of dear Silencer. None of them are close enough to the nightmare that had served so loyally as a steed.

One horse is bold enough to keep eye contact with Kylo. 

A silvery coated mare with eyes of steel.

“What’s her name?” Kylo asks.

“That is Chrome, Captain Phasma’s steed,” Techie answers.

Kylo nods. He moves to saddle and bridle the horse, but Hux catches his wrist and holds on. 

Hux’s eyes are desperate, his eyebrows slanted with consternation. _Don’t leave me_ , he mouths. _Whatever it is, we will face it together. Victory will be ours._

Kylo cups Hux’s face, thumbs tracing his high cheekbones. “Don’t worry,” he says, lacing his words with magic. “I will return to you.”

He hates to see how Hux’s green eyes dim in the moment. How sluggishly he repeats, _You will return to me. I will not worry._

Kylo steps away, returning to his preparations.

Neither brother stops him. It’s just as well.

This is something Kylo must do on his own.

~

Techie’s arms are around him when sense returns to Armitage. They sit together, on the floor of the kitchen. There are servants, slowly cleaning the days’ worth of dust and dirt that he and Ben had failed to.

Armitage’s head is fuzzy, halfway up in the clouds. Soon the clouds will coalesce and turn into a raging headache, he’s well aware. Techie’s hand travels up, to Armitage’s wrist.

“Oh,” he manages, voice catching somewhere in his throat. “Your bracelet— it’s frayed.”

Armitage looks down, brows furrowed. The bracelet that Techie made him, the one that he had adored and treasured so fiercely, is coming undone while he still wears it. _Can you fix it?_

Techie traces the poor thing. “Yes.”

He removes the bracelet and hands it over. If anything, the clouds that gather around his head see it as an opportunity to gather. Armitage finds himself a seat and watches, not really seeing anything.

Techie slips the bracelet right back around Armitage’s wrist once he’s done.

It’s like a bubble has popped around him, bringing the world back into sharp focus. Armitage blinks and blinks again. _Shit_ , he thinks. _The bastard put a spell on me._

He doesn’t linger on the fact that Techie’s bracelet miraculously repel spells (no, he’d spend time thanking his stars for it later), but instead he grabs Techie’s hand. _We need to find Prince Ben._

“Where do you think he’s going?” asks Techie hesitantly. “Father… would want to have words with him.”

Armitage stiffens briefly. Snoke. The fae ruler who had cursed Techie to begin with. _Will you tell Father that Ben has been living amongst the fae for most of his life?_

Would Ben be punished for something that he had not done?

Techie shakes his head, a thoughtful expression settling his face. “I don’t think so… but I think, if it’s all the same, the wedding should be called off.”

Armitage’s eyes widen. _You cannot_ , he says. _The treaty between Arkanis and Alderaan—_

Techie’s touch is gentle, and so is his smile. “Yes, but, you like him, don’t you?” And, more quietly, “Will Alderaan recognize him given he wasn’t really raised there?”

He fails to produce more than a sputter, fingers wiggling with nervous energy. Armitage forces himself to calm, to have his heart stop beating so violently. _Brother_ , he says in warning. _We need that treaty. And we need to keep Ben’s past hidden._

“But I am not the only prince, am I?”

Armitage does not dignify that piece of stupidity with an answer.

Techie shrugs, far too innocently. “Well then, shall you accompany me to the stables? I think we have business to tend to.”

_And what business would that be?_

“Tracking down Prince Ben,” Techie says. “Now that both our heads have presumably cleared.”

Armitage scoffs. _You’re not going anywhere. Arkanis needs you._

Techie gestures wildly about him, at the kitchens, at the servants—working slowly and doing their best to not seem as if they are eavesdropping on the prince and his bastard brother. “Fat lot of good I’ve done for Arkanis so far.”

 _Don’t say that_ , Armitage admonishes. _You are important._

Techie scoffs. 

_And you’re important to me. I cannot let you endanger yourself._

“And I’m just supposed to let _you_ go rushing off into danger then?” Techie says, hurt. 

_It isn’t like that—_

“Then what is it like?”

Armitage falls silent.

Techie takes his hand. _You are my brother and I love you and I won’t let you rush off into danger alone again. I will come with you and together we will find Ben and stop his fae master._

 _Ben… said that Supreme Leader Snoke wanted your heart_ , Armitage says hesitantly. _I cannot bear for anything to happen to you._

 _Nothing will. You’ll be there._ Techie rises, dragging Armitage up with him. “Now then, that’s decided. No more arguing with me.”

Armitage is powerless against his little brother once again.

~

Kylo rides and rides on, Chrome’s heart beating in time with his own. His palms sweating within his gloves. Snoke. Snoke. Snoke lies ahead, on his great big throne.

He is afraid.

It sours his tongue and makes him shake.

But for Hux he must do this. He must face his master, must slay him. Must make sure that Snoke cannot take Techie’s heart, cannot cannibalize the magic within him and the magic linking the brothers together.

So much depends on him and his strength.

He can only hope to not be crushed by Snoke’s swift hand before the deed is done.

~

In the stables once more, the horses snort, annoyed, as if aware of their return and none too pleased by it. Armitage hopes for one desperate moment that Ben is still there, still with Chrome, and that Armitage’s own horse is still awaiting a handful of sugar for being so good.

Of course, he was born to be disappointed, continuously and frequently.

No Ben, no Chrome, and certainly no horse renamed Millicent.

All send an arrow through his heart.

Techie reaches out to one of the horses. It nuzzles his palm, as wild creatures do when in the presence of Techie.

It’s then that Mitaka crashes into the stables, hair a mess and skin several shades paler than usual. “Prince Brendol, Armitage Hux,” he says, sweating visibly. “Th-th-”

“What is it?” Techie says, far too patiently for what he has been through.

“There’s a monster in the courtyard,” Mitaka squeaks. “We must alert the guards. Where is Captain Phasma—?”

Clicks against the stone floor. An annoyed snort. A taste of sour fear and adrenaline against his tongue. Armitage’s heart leaps to his throat. He turns, slowly, to the door and smiles for the first time that day.

He reaches out, taking Techie’s hand.

“Silencer,” Techie says. “What a dreadful name for a horse.”

Silencer’s mouth opens the wrong way, like some horrible dream. Like a nightmare. His eyes spark with unnatural intelligence. If Ben thought he was a fae, it’s fairly safe to assume that his steed truly _is_ one.

Mitaka squeaks nervously yet again before placing himself between the beast and his prince. “Prince Brendol! You know this creature?”

Armitage walks past Mitaka, snagging a slightly bruised apple from the top of a barrel. He reaches out, offering the apple to the horse.

Silencer eats it in one bite, core and all.

He reaches out, pressing himself to Silencer’s side. Mitaka protests, quite audibly, but Armitage ignores it. There are more pressing matters.

 _Ben has gone running to deal with a monster,_ he says into the soft fur of Silencer’s neck. _I suspect you know who that particular monster is. Take me to him. I want to save him._

The horse whinnies softly.

When Armitage looks Silencer in the eyes, he sees an understanding that is beyond a simple horse. A protectiveness he’s never seen before.

Loyalty, through and through.

Armitage nods to himself before joining Techie once more. They exchange quick words with one another, through presses and traces on the palms of their hands, in a secret language known to the brothers and precious few others.

When Armitage rides out of the stable, Techie clinging to his middle, all he can think about is collecting their wayward knight.

~

Silencer practically flies, legs moving so fast that they blur together in a hazy way, like smoke, like ash falling down.

Techie clings to him tightly, pressing his face into Armitage’s back.

The kingdom melts behind them, along with the surrounding villages and wildlife. Nothing remains but a song of wind and fury.

“Silencer!” Techie cries. “Too fast!”

That does nothing to convince the horse to go at a more normal pace. It practically preens on Techie’s fear instead, just eating it up.

Silencer only goes faster if anything.

Until suddenly Silencer stops.

Techie’s arms remain tight around him. “Did we die?”

Armitage taps against Techie’s knuckles and his brother lets him go. Before him is a wall of thorns, black and thick. He dismounts and approaches it. It doesn’t look like there’s room for him to squeeze through, not to mention Silencer or Techie.

The wall goes on forever, on either side. 

Armitage reaches out, touching a vine. _Perhaps it can be cut?_ His sword hangs heavily at his side. He yanks his hand back, eyes wide with pain. Blood beads up at the tip of his finger.

Silencer snorts, which is absolutely no help to anyone.

“Armie, are you okay?” Techie calls.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to.

The wall of thorns parts, creating a little doorway. He returns to Silencer and climbs back onto the horse’s back.

 _You knew that it’d do that, didn’t you_? Armitage asks.

Silencer snorts again, like it was obvious. No wonder that this horse served Ben. Both were rude, easily irritated, and far too tall for their own goods. They are more alike than not.

How happy Ben would be to see his horse again.

Silencer leads them through the wall of thorns. Once they are on the other side, the thorns writhe together, closing the gap.

“What was that?” Techie whispers.

 _We passed through a wall of thorns_ , Armitage tells him. _It shut behind us._

“Is that good?”

_We will wait and see if it lets us leave when we find Ben._

“And if it doesn’t?”

Armitage shrugs. _Then we will burn it down once we find what we came for._

~

Chrome is skittish in unfamiliar territory. He whinnies at every little odd noise. So much so that Kylo finds that the sight of grey walls gives him a sense of relief.

He dismounts Chrome and removes the saddle and bit. If he died within those walls then the horse wouldn't be punished for his foolishness.

Kylo checks himself, fixing the very drape of his cloak across his shoulders and down to his ankles. He fingers the hilt of his flamberge. _I can do this, I can do this_ , he tells himself, like a mantra, like a prayer.

But what god would listen to a human-born, faerie-stolen child such as he?

The citadel is quiet against the buzz of Kylo's mind. He takes another breath and holds it, forcing himself to go still. Calm flows within him now. In and out. Out and in. 

Nothing to make Snoke suspicious.

He follows the maze of halls and the call of his master, all the way to the citadel's central room.

Snoke sits on his throne, looming above him. His face is twisted with an old scar puckering the grey skin. His eyes are a green-blue shade that-- that look oddly familiar.

Kylo's fellow knights kneel before Snoke, leaving a space in the middle for Kylo himself.

"Kylo Ren," Snoke says, his voice smooth and charming. He sounds young, with the supposedly stolen magic within him. "Master of the Knights of Ren."

Kylo kneels beside his fellows and wonders just how many of them are also human, were also stolen from their cribs as babes and replaced with copies.

"You were tasked with going into the human world and taking back the heart of one who stole a portion of my magic," Snoke says, rising to his feet. He had always been tall, but now Kylo can feel every inch of the fae looming over him.

Snoke holds out his hand. "The heart."

Kylo's nose twitches. Quickly, before Snoke can hear the treachery in his mind, Kylo draws his flamberge and cuts Snoke's hand off.

Snoke takes in a sudden sharp breath, eyes wide and red with anger.

The other knights rise, quickly drawing their weapons and pointing them at Kylo. They don't attack, not yet, not when shock and fear paints their faces younger by decades.

"We're _humans_ ," Kylo says. "Replaced by changelings in your cribs. Stolen for Snoke's purposes."

Snoke's wrist bubbles and boils. The power of the iron within Kylo's sword, first granted to him by Snoke himself.

"He lies to you," Snoke says, retreating so that mortal bodies shield him. "The human world has twisted your fellow's mind. How unfortunate."

None of the knights surge towards him. They are as still as statues, as if one wrong breath will cause everything to shatter.

"Why Kylo?" one knight says, eyes reddened at their corners.

He shakes his head. "Can't you see? Snoke is using you. He's using all of _us_."

One knight lowers his sword. "How do we know what you speak of is true?" His name is Jax. Kylo had always thought him to be the spawn of some rock troll. Now he thanks the Force for him.

"My flamberge is made of iron," he says, pointing at Snoke's steaming stump. Kylo pulls off his glove with his teeth before pressing the flat of it against his palm. No burn, no pain. How the discovery of that had caused him so much anguish. Now it's a source of hope.

The knights gasp, shock filling the air once more.

"That's enough," Snoke hisses, throwing his arm up, into the air.

Kylo’s body goes stiff before he’s thrown into the air and held there by an invisible force. It’s like something is squeezing him on every side. He can’t breath. 

The flamberge slips from his grip and falls to the ground with a clatter. Kylo hardly hears it.

Sweat drips down his face, mingling with stubborn tears.

“This,” Snoke says, squeezing his fist. “This is the corruption that humans spread. See that your fellow has been tainted by stolen magic and the mortal. What was it, Kylo Ren, that had you betray your Master and your fellows?”

Kylo grits his teeth painfully. Any more pressure, and his teeth would crack.

Snoke approaches, pressing a finger to Kylo’s forehead.

“A man,” he says, seeing Hux. Seeing Hux sleeping, eating, leaning against Kylo’s shoulders. Seeing how the beautiful man would snarl, nostrils flared while fighting. Witnessing how Hux showed him the truth, iron against human flesh.

Snoke whirls around to the rest of the gathered apprentices. “Kylo Ren would throw away his loyalties to try to court a human. What say you to that?”

The apprentices hold their weaponry in white-knuckled hands. Jax. Marian. Rey. Mateo. Rue. Kevarr. They look so young, faces so scared. So disappointed.

 He struggles feebly against the bonds.

Snoke’s fist only grows tighter. A pressure wraps itself around Kylo’s throat and squeezes.

 _This is it_ , he thinks faintly. _Another failure. All I’m good for._

~

Silencer knows these lands. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t wait for Armitage or Techie to give him a command. 

He runs back home—to a great grey citadel.

A chill travels down the length of Armitage’s spine.

“What is it?” Techie asks, voice quiet against the howling wind.

Something is wrong, he wants to say. _The door is open_ , he says instead.

And it is true. The doors are thrown open, revealing only foreboding darkness. Someone has been here before them. _Ben._

“Ben?” Techie asks, sitting up straighter. “Is he here?”

_No. He’s inside._

“Oh dear,” Techie says, removing a hand from around Armitage’s waist and chewing on his uneven nails. “Will we go in after him?”

Armitage lets out a breath. _We don’t have much choice._

Silencer lets out a nicker and leads on, entering the citadel. Techie breathes in sharply but otherwise remains silent. Armitage carefully checks his pistols—two, one with seven iron bullets and one with six. He’ll be sure to make each one count.

The walls are barren and grey. Despair leaks from them.

No joy.

No hope.

Techie clings to him tightly.

Armitage urges Silencer forth with a squeeze of his heels. The horse snorts in an annoyed way, tossing his head. If the horse could give a nasty remark, Armitage is sure he’d be on the receiving end right now.

The halls grow more and more narrow with each twist and turn.

“It’s like a maze,” Techie murmurs.

How fervently Armitage wishes his brother is not right.

“Or a labyrinth,” Techie adds, which is no comfort to his older brother.

 _A labyrinth tends to have a monster at its center,_ Armitage says.

“I know what I said.” Techie holds his brother close, leaning his head upon Armitage’s back. His long red hair tickles the exposed skin of Armitage’s neck.

More twists. More turns. The light dims, until it barely illuminates the path forwards.

Until suddenly they turn a corner and the hall widens into a great, big circular room. A throne sits in the middle, bigger than any throne should have to be. And around it— one faerie, tall with a hand outstretched, a small party of armored people all around.

And Ben suspending in the air, face contorted with agony.

Armitage throws himself from Silencer’s back, pulling out a pistol. He aims and fires off the iron bullets, one by one. He runs out and tosses the pistol to the ground.

Ben falls and gets back to his feet, drawing his flamberge.

The others, dressed like children playing pretend, devolve into chaos. They fight amongst each other, squabbling as children do. Armitage ignores them, rushing instead to Ben’s side.

The faerie stands, grey skin steaming where Armitage’s bullets had wounded him. “You,” he growls in a voice that Armitage knows, deep down inside. “You insignificant—”

Ben swings the flamberge one last time and frees the fae’s head from his shoulders.

~

Everything happens, all at once.

Light explodes from within and without, blinding Kylo. He drops his sword and stumbles back, covering his eyes with one arm and grabbing Hux with the other.

When the light fades, Snoke’s body has fallen to ash, leaving behind only his gaudy golden robe.

The Knights of Ren are frozen, many of them paused in combat. Rey’s blade lies against Jax’s own. Both drop their weapons, mouths slack with shock.

“What just happened?” cries Hux’s brother, Techie, sitting astride a very much still living Silencer. 

Kylo can do little but stare.

Techie’s eyes are no longer their hazy muted color, but a watery blue-green to rival Hux’s own in vividness. A color to match those that Snoke had, once stolen magic from a fae was returned to him.

A tithe, returned to the child who was tithed. 

Techie looks around, brows furrowed low on his face. He takes everything in slowly, but when his eyes lock onto the gore, he just can’t look away. “Armie?” he calls.

Hux lets out a soft sigh, one that is _audible_. Then he freezes, raising his hands to his lips.

Techie races over, throwing himself into Hux’s arms. “Armitage,” he sobs. “Armitage, I can _see_!” There is no unearthly glow from within him, like before. His hair falls messily, frizzy with the static of magic. 

The gifts given in exchange for pieces of Techie are gone too.

How odd it must all be.

Armitage holds him, tightly, watching with wary eyes over his shoulder, at the knights. He’s distrustful, and he has the right to be.

“These are the Knights of Ren,” Kylo says. “Stolen human children, raised by Snoke as enforcers to his will. I was one of them too.”

Techie, with the bleeding heart he has, separates from Hux. “Oh, my. Well, you must come with us to Arkanis. All of you. I am sure we have room.”

Hux frowns but doesn’t voice his very obvious concerns.

“Are we really human?” asks Rey, brows pinched with worry. Some hair has escaped her buns and it sticks to her neck with sweat.

“Ah, well, do you want iron?” Techie asks, looking around.

Armitage draws his sword, wordlessly despite the stiffening of Rey’s shoulders, and hands it over.

Rey traces the iron blade with her fingertips, eyes wide with curiosity. “No burns,” she murmurs, handing the sword over to the next knight.

Slowly, like a ritual, the other knights test themselves. No one burns at the touch of iron, just as Kylo had expected. All human. All missing their flesh-and-blood families.

Hux puts away his sword at the end, sheathing it quickly, like he couldn’t wait to have it secured at his side while in the company of so many strangers.

“We only have one horse,” Techie says, ruffling his red hair. It becomes more wild with every pass of his hand.

“Two,” Kylo corrects. Chrome is probably still in the area. 

“Well, it’s still not enough,” Techie says. “Perhaps Armitage and I can ride back to Arkanis and get people to come.”

Kylo pauses. “How did you get past the wall?”

Techie laughs. “Well… I-I’m not exactly sure.” He turns to Hux and waits for an answer.

But Hux only offers a humorless smile, offering up an ungloved hand. Blood crusts over a finger.

Kylo frowns, more confused than when he started.

“I’m not leaving,” says Jax, shaking his head. “The Fae Lands are all I know, everything I’ve lived and breathed. I can’t abandon this home.”

Techie looks to Kylo for guidance, as if he would have any words to help.

“You can stay here as long as you would like,” Hux says. His voice is smooth. Confident. The very voice Snoke had Kylo claim from a different fae. “But if you should like to venture into the human lands, you are welcome to Arkanis. Once you reach the wall, travel south-east, until you see the shoreline. Ask for Armitage Hux and I will come.”

~

In the end, none of the Knights of Ren elect to come along with them. It’s just as well, with them limited to two horses.

Outside, it feels like the world has changed.

Armitage can see some of the change, however small. Where vines once grew across the cold, strange ground within the Fae Lands, now flowers bloom, tall and colored in bright and vivid shades.

Techie gathers some blooms in reds and purples and yellows and twines them clumsily together, into the rough approximation of a flower crown. He crowns himself and continues, taking everything in with a smile and a laugh.

Armitage simply watches.

In a few minutes, he will find Silencer and Ben will find Chrome and they will return to Arkanis. Brendol will have their heads for spiriting the crown prince away, but the joy lighting Techie’s face is worth any trouble Brendol can create.

Ben lumbers to his side, head downcast. His hair is wild, like a living creature spooked by the recent gruesome events.

Armitage reaches out, tucking Ben’s hair behind his overlarge ears.

“So,” Ben says, meeting Armitage’s eyes. There’s an amused light to the amber. “Your name is Armitage, not just Hux.”

Armitage shrugs a shoulder. He takes Ben’s--or rather Kylo’s--hand into his own. “Half of a name is still a name,” he says, while tapping out the same in his secret language. “But you concealed the name you go by entirely.”

“And it turns out Kylo Ren is nothing but a fiction, isn’t it?” Ben says. He teeth click together with his words.

“A name is a name,” Armitage says instead. He can’t find himself mad at the deception. Too much has happened in too short of a time for him to care about that. “What matters is what you would like me to call you now. Ben… or Kylo?”

Ben frowns, pressing his lips together. “I am not Kylo anymore. But neither am I Prince Ben.”

“Something else then,” Armitage muses. _R-E-N,_ he spells out.

“Ren?”

Armitage hides a smile, but does not let go of Ben’s ungloved hand. The natural warmth of the other man radiates out in waves and, much like a cat and a sunbeam, he is reluctant to leave that curious source of warmth. 

“It pays tribute to both names you’ve been called before.”

“Ren,” the man repeats, tasting his name on his lips. 

Armitage takes a careful step forwards, until he is in the other man’s space. Ren does nothing to dissuade him, does not back up or show him in any way that this is unwanted. He reaches out, wrapping his arms around Ren’s shoulders.

Ren is quick to return the gesture, wrapping his arms around Armitage’s waist and pulling him close.

Armitage pecks Ren on the mouth. Never truly Prince Ben, he doesn’t have to marry Techie. No longer Kylo Ren, he is not a faerie and certainly not bound to rules that separate the Fae from the humans.

He is just _Ren_ , and it is just so _right_ that Armitage gets a few kisses after nearly this much heartbreak.

They separate slightly, hands lingering on one another, with foreheads touching. Ren’s eyes are shut, but his smile and his posture… he seems content.

“Am I interrupting something?” Techie calls, the teasing in his voice absolutely uncalled for.

Armitage throws up a rude gesture, one that needs no translation, and smiles as Techie laughs.

The sun is warm and gentle, along with a fresh, spring breeze. And all is well.

~

In the end, not all fairy tales are the same.

There is no princess nor a dragon. There are no kindly singing animals; with Silencer having a mean streak and Chrome not musically talented. There is no evil step-mother, just a mother who cared not for her half-son.

The sleeping prince is awoken through the love of a bastard brother, not his betrothed. And it’s the bastard who finds love with a fae-stolen prince, who is and isn’t the betrothed.

Brendol dies suddenly. They say it was due to the stress of his heir being missing, journeying to Fae Lands. If they find a small, strange insect beside Brendol’s corpse then, well, no one pays it much mind.

Techie becomes the monarch of Arkanis. His rule is kind and prosperous for all his people.

Captain Phasma and Knight Ren become fast and fierce friends. No one hears of her promise to tear his heart from his body if he dares to break Armitage’s own.

Prince Ben is found and returned to Alderaan, his hair going blond at the roots. He is shaken and afraid and angry, raving at days spent trapped as a piece of wood. It is little surprise when the engagement is called off; to give King Brendol II the time to grieve and to give Prince Ben time to heal. If anyone realizes that he is not the real Ben, that he was a changeling left behind by the faeries a long, long time ago, no one mentions it.

And the Queen of Alderaan…? 

Well--

~

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Armitage asks. He swats at a rather affectionate branch as it caresses his face. 

“If I don’t do it now, then I will lose my courage to do it at all,” Ren murmurs. He leads the way through thick, fruiting foliage.

It is spring in Alderaan, just days before a harvest ceremony. Armitage does not see the importance of the timing. He doesn’t understand at all.

But if it important for Ren, then he will be there with him.

Overhead, the moon hangs low and fat, flooding the field with light.

“You know, with us creeping here in the dead of night, would it not seem more suspicious than waiting for the morn?” Armitage asks.

Ren shushes him. “Do you hear that?”

Armitage freezes, tilting his head. He hears nothing but the wind. He scowls and smacks Ren’s shoulder. 

Ren grabs his hand and presses Armitage’s bare palm to his lips. “I love you,” he teases.

 _Idiot,_ Armitage says in the secret language he’d taught Ren, unable to fight the heat that rushes to his face. At least the night will hide some of his flush.

They continue on and on, until a clearing appears, a moonlit temple at its very heart. White flowers bloom across the grass here, practically glowing.

Ren’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Should we turn back?” Armitage asks.

Ren shakes his head. He grabs Armitage’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “No… no. We cannot.”

Armitage huffs, but doesn’t correct him. It’d be easy to turn around and walk away. They’d left Silencer a short while ago, when the forest’s trees grew too thick. The horse would be all too eager to dash away from this damnable place.

Ren walks and, still holding Armitage’s hand, drags Armitage along.

The peaceful silence is cut only by the chirping of crickets and the whistling of wind. Ren moves like a man possessed, determination glinting in his eyes.

The walk is easy. The wait is unbearable.

Armitage stomach swims with nerves suddenly. He tightens his grip on Ren’s hand.

When they enter the temple, neither man knows exactly what to expect.

A woman stands there, shoulders slightly hunched with age. She faces a thousand candles, their flickering light captured by the warm browns and grey of her hair. 

“Mother…” Ren manages, the word spilling out.

She turns, slowly, as if she had expected their arrival all along. Leia Organa, Queen of Alderaan, is as regal as the portraits made her seem. A deep sadness runs through her, one the only grows deeper as she sees her son, the one she’d birthed, for the first time in years.

She approaches, slowly, putting her hand on Ren’s cheek. It’s so much smaller, even smaller when Ren’s hand comes up to cup it. He leans into the touch, lashes fluttering against his cheek.

“You’re my son,” Leia says. “And yet you’re not.”

Ren laughs mirthlessly, shaking his head. “Mother,” Ren says, voice thick. “I was stolen by the fae. And replaced by a copy. And now, here I am, before you once again.”

Leia’s eyes only grow sadder. She gathers up her overlarge son and simply holds him, running her hand through his hair as he sobs. She murmurs low words to his Ren.

Quietly, Armitage disentangles himself from Ren, letting go of the other man’s hand.

It’s clear to him that Leia loves both her sons, the original and the magic-spawned copy. What exactly she will do with this information is a mystery to him. But he doesn’t think it will reach the light of day.

How could it? If it would cause discord amongst the Alderaanians to know the origins of their future king.

He slips back out, into the night, and stares up, into the star filled sky.

Soon Ren would be done, and the two of them would journey back to Arkanis. How Techie and Phasma would hound him for the details of their quest.

He hardly moves when Ren wraps his arms around Armitage’s middle. Armitage simply leans back, into that great warmth.

Ren kisses Armitage’s jaw, silently, silently.

All is well as it can be.

~

~

~

_The End._


End file.
